Arc of Frost
by Daerunia
Summary: Her nightmares became her waking horrors, ghosts and wisps of what she loved moved through the remnants of her life. A dying Ultear, living alone and with the regrets of her decision during the Dragon Festival, finds herself once again unable to tell falsehood from reality as she is visited by what feels like a ghost of the past that she aches for. Sequel to Arc of Night; one-shot.


**Arc of Frost**

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_**Disclaimer:** Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima. Inspiration is drawn from Oscar Wilde's "The Nightingale and the Rose."  
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A robin once loved a boy, one who grew into a beautiful man. Day after day, the robin watched over the boy, waiting with bated breath as he returned home to tell of his days at the market, his hours spent enjoying the pleasures of the world. One day, he asked that the robin bring him a gift of her world, one to capture the heart of any princess. He was greedy in love.

Fearing that this man would drift away from her, the robin found a rosebush who bore no blooms. Thinking of that man, she offered him her heart in exchange for giving his barren vines a rose so beautiful that it would bring tears to any young lover's eyes. And so, pressing her breast to the thorn, the robin sang her final lament as the rosebush pierced her soul, draining her life. She sang for the man, she sang for his happiness, she sang with the hopes that through her, he would flourish. As she died, falling at the feet of the rosebush with her chest stained red, she marveled at the beauty of the red rose borne from her blood. In her final seconds, she shed tears at the beautiful thing she had created, knowing that it would do well for a pure heart to see.

However, the princess cast the roses aside, claiming that roses would not catch the attention of any of the other girls. She could not exchange roses for an expensive crown; she couldn't flaunt or sell something so fragile and simple. Only gold would satisfy her. In his loneliness, the man cursed the robin, angered that she had not brought something of value.

Ultear could still see the look of disappointment on Meredy's young face as she told the story passed down from her mother, one that brought a bitter smile to her lips every time the child had asked her to repeat it. She had wondered if her own mother saw that same expression, that same knitting of the brow that signified her child thought it was terrible, it was cruel. _Was it a true story? What happened next?_ Ultear had always asked Ur this, even after the fourth and fifth time hearing it. Meredy had asked the same thing, long past her adolescence. Ultear could only smile; her own mother had never told her if it was true or not. Perhaps it had been the same way for Ur. Had she been told this story as a child, only to be left feeling unhappy and angered at the greed of humans?

It was her hope that Meredy would pass it on to her own children, perhaps even share it with Jellal so that he could do the same. The thought of Meredy, so very young, finding another person with which to share her life…

_'What brought this over me?'_ Ultear reached for her tea with steady hands, feeling the rays of the spring sun hold her. Other tenants of the same apartment claimed that the morning sun upon the aluminum balcony was too bright, but Ultear moved through her days with little sight, often preferring to keep her eyes closed. She wasn't afraid to see the world around her, but feared the sight of it without those others beside her, young and beautiful and full. She was withered and alone and sometimes felt as if she were that dead rosebush, seeking out a robin to bleed one last straggling bit of life from. She could feel them as wisps, shimmering in and out of her vision even with her eyes tightly shut, as if they were ghosts though she was sure they still lived. She could feel them, yes, she really could; she could feel the roughness of Jellal's hand within her own, the softness of Meredy's waterfall locks as she cried into Ultear's chest when she was upset. She could feel their laughter haunting her, see their smiles blinding her. She missed them.

The worst feeling was that of their tears, hanging about her in an eternally frigid mist that not even the sun could dissolve. That final expression: grim, crying, believing she was dead. But she wasn't, was she? For them, it would be best if she were. She was a witch. A witch who had saved the world, but only to balance the trauma she had brought upon it.

"Your tea's gone cold, Granny."

The sound of her hired hand's brisk tone brought Ultear blinking her aged eyes furiously, as if blotting out the visage of her distant mind. She could feel him standing to her right and wondered how long he had been there. Not a day over fifteen, the boy wasn't exactly tactful or careful, but he was kind and eager to help Ultear despite the meager pay. "Get me another cup, dear." Her wrinkled, warped fingers pushed stray silver back from her forehead, eyes fighting to focus on a day-plant she had set out by her tea-table. Anything tangible, anything real, something to help this old woman grip reality.

"Some people prefer their tea cold, you know," the boy bit back, still standing just outside her vision. Mouth slightly open and brows knitted in surprise, Ultear turned her head to scold the boy, letting out an offended "excuse me?" Her words fell as leaves in the fall as her gaze met him; not the form of her friendly helper she anticipated, but a shirtless, mop-headed adult. He didn't respond as he maneuvered around the table, pulling out a chair across from her and sitting down in it as if he were meeting her here for a tea date. Ultear squeezed her eyes shut, blinking furiously to fight the blindness and folding of worlds that had given her so much trouble.

"Hey, stop gawking like that." Onyx eyes, lax yet brimming with arrogance and thought, dared her to blink again as he rested his elbows on her table, gingerly moving her cup of tea closer to him. Faded eyes took in his presence; a horizontal scar trailed over his brow and snowflakes dotted his lashes, his shoulders, his mooning skin. They clung to strands of dusty black hair, casting a shadow over wan, adult cheekbones and his pale complexion. Was she really seeing snow, or was it remnants of a memory? A darker scar brandished his right rib, one that she had placed there in a time that seemed a millennia ago.

Her lips parted to speak, but language had escaped her. Was it so odd to see him here? After all, he knew she was alive; Gray Fullbuster may have been the only one who knew she was still among them. Perhaps she had already accepted herself as one of the dead, just one more soul to the call. And yet she still trembled; fear, flight, anger, surprise, love, hatred, loss, gain, one-hundred storms at the sight of him. She was supposed to blink out as a star did, unnoticed by the billions of others. He was keeping her from the slow fade, holding her here by reminding her that what she truly cared about still existed. No, he had to leave, he had to go-…

"It's okay," he uttered softly, lowering his head just slightly in a notion that she recognized well as his attempt to attach, to seem more open and vulnerable. He always ducked his head in such a way when he smiled, afraid that it would catch the gaze of an enemy. Not so long ago, she had been this enemy to him, this almost-sister who couldn't be trusted. Her pulse slowed, falling back from a deadly pace to a quick one of her not-so-distant youth.

"I didn't want anyone to find me here. I didn't expect anyone to try." Ultear tried to scold him, but she couldn't find it within her to feel true anger again. "Gray, I'd like for you to leave."

"Listen." As if he didn't hear her request, Gray wrapped both hands around the tea cup, idly rolling it in his calloused palms as the contents crystallized, freezing under his touch. "You never gave me the chance to say thank you. If it weren't for what you did, I would be dead. Everyone, not just me… we'd all be dead."

His words pierced her soul. It was easier for an old woman to cry, it felt like. Tears that had never existed only years ago stung her eyes, threatening to fall at a moment's notice. Her feeble heart ached, screamed, bled, wanting to utter words that she felt should never be spoken. It was taboo for a martyr to utter, it was sick for a sacrifice to say. "I would take it back for one more minute with them." Not wanting to see what would be an expression of disgust at her selfishness, she dropped her head and allowed tears to escape, reaching for the boy's hand with her own to prevent him from fading away. Her hand met cold flesh, strong tendon. Muscle creaking, wrapped around bone. He was real. Gray was here. "It was a sudden act that needed to be done, but now I want to take it back. I just want to see them one time. I just want to walk on my own once more. This curse, I can't-… I'm wrong, but I should have never been so kind."

"You're still here, Ultear. You're alive, and because of you so are they." His expression softened. Wrinkled and weak, he could still see a catty, powerful woman. A dark haired beauty driven by power and a goal was before him, dwindling into nothingness within a body of decay. She would die easily, comfortably, gently, but not happily. "You're a hero to the Magic World. What would Ur think?"

"She wouldn't recognize me." With effort she looked back up, seeing her reflection within his patient gaze. "How can you even ask that, Gray?"

He squeezed her hand, eliciting silent pain as her arthritic joints scraped. "She would recognize you, and she would be proud of you. She loves you, Ultear. Can't you feel it?" For a few valuable seconds, they both sat in silence, old hand in new, absorbing the presence of the other on a day just like every other day. Two souls peered at one another; both having nothing in common but the love of one woman, yet inexplicably bound by that thread. And in those seconds, Ultear could feel Ur's embrace, dancing against her skin as the ocean spray of Tenroujima had touched her skin back then, as her mother's spun roses had bloomed in fragile ice. "We love you, Ultear. Thank you."

She could hear Ur's strong voice, one that hadn't touched her ears since her early youth. '_I love you, my tear_,' as she tossed snow into the air without a care in the world. Meredy, melancholy, clinging to her as she had prepared to take her life. '_I love you, Ultear_.' Jellal, desperately trying to find it within himself to forgive her of the agony of his friends. He had submitted, at first forced and with pain. But with time, that would healed. '_You are my friend, Ultear.'_ And Gray, wracked with guilt for what he couldn't control, boiling with hatred for the way she had stained his master's name, later taking solace in her repentance. '_I'm happy for you, Ultear.'_

"I love you, too," cracked lips whispered, tasting ocean tears as the wind blew them dry. Her fingers tightened, but met only upon themselves. "Gray?" She had blinked, but was afraid to open her eyes again. She could only clench them shut and grit her teeth, fighting the wave of emptiness that would douse every inch of hope she had recovered. Was this how the robin felt, knowing that she wouldn't see the man again? Or was she yet again the rosebush, hoping so hard for that glimmer of vibrant life that she was seeing specters?

"Who is Gray?" This time, the voice of her hired help a few feet behind her, no doubt thinking how cute it was that the sweet elderly lady was talking to herself again. "Did you doze off again, Ms. Milkovich?"

And she had, sipping at tea with the weather lulling her into a timeless nap, unable to detangle fiction from reality. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, so many more minutes that she wanted to spend with him.

Her empty hand clenched into a gnarled fist, feeling yet another empty breeze lift her hair from her forehead. Slowly, slowly, she opened one eye and then the other, seeing the same tea cup sitting halfway across the table, in front of an empty chair. Though her agony, a weak smiled emerged, watching as the crystal flakes upon the handle shimmered in the spring warmth. The draft was colder, humid, caressing her face with a mist not unlike frost. The ocean during sunset, the yawning twilight of a mangled life. Her song had been sung, one of tears and hurt and repair, one that could pass through time untouched.

She was alone again, but with the peace of a fresh ghost pulsing gently in her mind. His smile, whether real or fiction, it was for her. Thank you. Had she been waiting for that the entire time, a selfish vine just wanting to be noticed for the occasional perfect bloom?

"I suppose I must have," and as he had, she too, was able to smile for one more second, one more hour, one more day.


End file.
